


Pas de Deux

by MagicaDraconia16



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Art, Back Alley Brawl, Boys In Love, Car Chases, Dancing, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, Journalists, M/M, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Romance, Sexist Language, Steve is a bit of an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: When his best friend Steve buys tickets for what he thinks is a rock concert but turns out to be a ballet performance instead, he is understandably annoyed. For James Barnes, however, it turns out to be one of the best birthday presents he's ever had. Meeting ballerino Tony Stark? That's just the start of a very beautiful friendship...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 200
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pas de Deux](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/722431) by MassiveSpaceWren. 



> My entry for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, inspired by the gorgeous art from MassiveSpaceWren, found both embedded in this fic and separately on tumblr, so you can go give it the love it deserves.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Buck. I swear I didn’t realise!”

“What?” Blinking, James Barnes slowly rose out of the trance he’d fallen into. The house lights were coming up, and all around him people were beginning to move, to stand up and stretch. The susurrus of conversation got steadily louder. His best friend, who’d given him the tickets for his birthday, was already on his feet and almost vibrating with the need to move.

“I swear, I thought this was some kind of rock concert. I’m so sorry, Bucky. This has been such a waste of time!” The scowl that descended on Steve Rogers’ face was incredibly familiar; it was his default expression almost all of the time. “We can go someplace else. I think there’s a new burger joint about three blocks from here.”

“What?” James said, again, and made a grab at Steve’s sleeve when it seemed like his friend was about to tear off down the row of seats. “No, Steve, wait. What are you on about? It’s only the intermission.”

Steve turned back to face him, somehow managing to both scowl harder _and_ look at James incredulously. “Bucky, haven’t you been paying attention?” he asked, and thrust an accusing finger at the curtains hiding the stage from view. “It’s a _ballet_. I never would have bought the tickets if I’d realised.”

Now James scowled. “Well, I like it,” he declared, and let go of Steve’s arm. “I’m staying put; I want to watch the rest of it.”

“Wha…? How on earth can you like this sort of thing?” Steve’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “It’s ballet, for god’s sake. It’s a _girl_ thing!”

James closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. “Steve,” he said, when he opened his eyes again. “Did you, or did you not, happen to notice that all of the ballet dancers up there were _men_? There’s not a single, solitary female dancer in the lot.”

“Oh, come on, Buck, that doesn’t make it any better!” Steve folded his arms and glared at James.

“Fine, then.” James folded his own arms and glared right back. “If you want to leave, then leave. But this is _my_ birthday treat, and I’m staying right here to watch the rest of it.”

“Fine!” Steve turned and began to bully his way through the returning crowd. James heard quite a few exclamations of surprise as his friend shoved past.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the stage as the house lights flickered in warning and then grew dim. He hadn’t realised it was a ballet, either, when Steve had proudly presented him with the tickets several days before, but unlike Steve, James didn’t care. Instead, he was sucked into the production, the lights, the music, the _movement_ of the dancers as they cavorted across the stage.

 _Steve_ , he reflected, as the curtain began to rise, _didn’t know what he was missing out on._

* * *

When the curtain came down for the final time, James remained in his seat. Not only to avoid the crush of the escaping crowd, but also just to savour the memory of the show. Steve really was an idiot; who cared if ballet was a _female_ thing? He could have quite happily stayed there and watched several more hours of it.

Eventually, reluctantly, he levered himself upright. The crowds were all but gone, with only the odd straggler like James himself remaining, so there was nothing and no-one to hinder him as he shuffled his way out of the auditorium and towards the exit doors.

Waiting until everyone else had gone had another benefit other than not getting trampled. It meant that nobody could accidentally bump into his prosthetic arm.

It had been almost two years since the technicians at Stark Healthcare had wired the thing into his nervous system, but most days it still didn’t _feel_ like it was actually part of James’ body. There were days when he’d lie awake at three o’clock in the morning, holding the metal hand above his head and watching it open and close and move as though somebody else were directing it to do so.

He had to admit, it was a lot better than the block of plastic he’d had at first, courtesy of Hydra Hydraulics, but he still hated people touching it.

Once outside the theatre, James took a moment to consider his options. He could always call Steve, maybe meet up at the burger joint he’d mentioned. He could find the joint – or some other food shop – by himself. Or… he could just go home and order takeout. Steve probably needed some more time to cool off, so that was out. James didn’t like eating out by himself; people tended to stare at anyone eating alone, so that was out, too.

Home and takeout it was, then.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, James turned his feet homeward. The route took him around the block to behind the theatre, where the artist and performers’ entrance was located at the end of an alley that ran the length of the building.

Sidestepping into the alley to avoid a large pile of trash that someone had left on the edge of the sidewalk, James heard a very particular tone of voice, and froze. He was, sadly, all too familiar with that tone of voice. Steve didn’t have the sense that God gave a gnat when it came to stopping anything he considered ‘bullying’ but an incredibly late puberty meant that he’d spent most of his first two decades of life small and scrawny and sickly, and James had had to come to his rescue more times than he could even remember, let alone count.

Sighing, James turned into the alley, knowing roughly _what_ he’d find, if not exactly _who_. He really hoped Steve hadn’t been out here fighting for the entire second half of the ballet.

Sure enough, near the middle of the alley, a man tall and broad enough to be a football star was looming over somebody. “Aw, c’mon, faggot,” he was saying. “Showing it off all the time, obviously a ballerina like you wants a _real_ man.”

The person he was trying to intimidate, though, wasn’t Steve, but rather a brunet man that James rather thought had been one of the ballet dancers. Shorter than the homophobic idiot, he was slender but muscled, and didn’t look at all bothered by the idiot in front of him. Instead, he had his arms folded across his chest and a bored expression on his face.

“I’m not a female, so that makes me a ballerin _o_. And if you know I was ‘showing it off’, then you were obviously looking and taking note, so I don’t see how that makes you a ‘real man’,” he drawled.

“Why, you fucking dirty, cock-sucking faggot,” the taller man spluttered, and the back of his neck went an immediate bright red.

James sighed in resignation. Damn it, now he was going to have to get involved in a brawl, over someone he didn’t even know. Steve would have a field day when he found out, because James was always scolding him for doing the exact same thing.

To his surprise, though, when the quarterback lunged, the shorter man took a quick, graceful step to the side and kicked out at the other man’s knee as he went stumbling past. The quarterback staggered and almost went down but lurched upright and, with a roar, spun straight back at the dancer.

Who then proceeded to put on the best display of martial arts that James had ever seen. Within ten minutes, the quarterback was sprawled out on the ground and moaning piteously, whilst the dancer was still as pristine as he’d started out.

“Wow!” The ballerino startled as James began applauding, unable to help himself. “That was amazing!”

The dancer gave him a wary once-over. “Thanks, I guess?” he said. “Not a friend of yours, I hope.” He glanced away to nudge the jock in the ribs with the toe of his shoe.

James pulled a face. “Oh, God, no,” he assured the other man. “I was just passing when I heard his voice. I’m familiar with the tone of it and thought I’d see if I needed to help.”

The dancer raised his eyebrows and gave him a second, more careful, look. “You’re familiar with the tone?” he repeated. “Really?”

“I have a friend who _really_ dislikes people like him and has no problem telling them so.” James shrugged. “Unfortunately, until he was almost twenty, he was about ninety pounds soaking wet, so I did a lot of stepping in when he got in over his head.”

“I see.” The other man glanced around his feet and swooped down to pick up a tote bag that he’d obviously dropped – willingly or not – when the football brute had first accosted him. “Well, thanks for the… assist.”

“Thanks for the show,” James replied. “Both this one and the ballet one.”

The dancer looked at him again. “The ballet?” he repeated, and his eyebrows slowly rose again. “You actually went in?”

“Sure. My friend Steve bought the tickets for my birthday. He thought it was a rock concert, and left at the intermission, but I enjoyed it.”

“You.” The dancer scanned him yet again, and this time James felt a flash of annoyance. “ _You_ enjoyed it. A _ballet_.”

“So?” James scowled at him. “Are only certain _types_ allowed to like ballet?” He was well aware that he didn’t fit the stereotypical ballet-loving mould; the motorcycle boots and heavy jacket he wore made people think he’d be more at home in the mosh pit at a heavy metal concert.

The dancer sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m being an ass, aren’t I?” he acknowledged. “I don’t want to be like this guy—” He kicked the downed quarterback again. “—so… I apologise.” He stuck out a hand at James, who gingerly reached out to shake it. “I appreciate that you came to help, even if it wasn’t needed, and I’m glad you enjoyed the show. In fact—” He took his hand back and rummaged in the tote bag, pulling out a thick glossy booklet and a pen. “Here. I’ll sign this for you. What’s your name?”

James blinked at him in surprise. “James,” he said, when the dancer just tilted his head quizzically. “James Barnes. And that’s not necessary.”

“If you’re aiming for the Bond vibe, you need to change it up a little,” the ballerino said, his mouth twisting into an amused smirk as he scribbled on the booklet. “And you said your friend bought tickets for your birthday, so call it a gift.” He finished with a flourish and thrust the booklet at James. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” James took the booklet and glanced down at the extravagant signature scrawled across half the front page. He blinked, then blinked again. “Tony Stark,” he read, incredulously. He looked back up at the dancer… Tony Stark. “As in… Stark Healthcare, Tony Stark?”

Now it was Stark’s turn to blink. “Ah, yes?” he said, tentatively. “That’s one of the companies I set up. Why…?”

“I, er.” James awkwardly raised his left hand and wiggled the fingers at Stark.

Stark’s face lit up with a wide smile, and James suddenly felt a whole lot more awkward for completely different reasons. He hadn’t really paid attention to any one specific dancer, but he was realising now that Stark was _very_ attractive.

“You have one of my arms!” Stark enthused, and dropped his bag again to rush towards James, clutching at the metal hand. He peered closely at it and twisted it this way and that, tilting his head to listen to the mechanism inside it. “How’s it working for you? Any problems?”

“Not a one, so far,” James informed him. “It’s so much better than my last one; that one kept getting a wire caught between gears every time I so much as lifted my elbow.”

“Ouch.” Stark winced in sympathy, and trailed his fingertips across the back of James’ hand, along his wrist and up his forearm as far as he could reach under the jacket sleeve. “You came from Hydra Hydraulics, right? I think they were partnered with Hammer Industries, so I’m not surprised it was shoddy work.” He abruptly seemed to realise that he was essentially fondling James’ arm. “Oh!” He abruptly dropped it, and a blush crept over his cheeks. “Sorry about that,” Stark said, rubbing awkwardly at his own arm.

“No problem.” James shuffled his feet, wondering if he dared… It’d been a long time since he’d been out with _anybody_ , let alone somebody as good-looking as Stark. He drew in a deep breath, gathering his courage. It was his birthday, after all… “Um, hey, would you—?”

The loud blast of a car horn at the end of the alley stole his words. Both of them looked in that direction. A fancy car that wasn’t quite long enough to be called an actual limo was parked half on the sidewalk next to the trash pile. The front window was down, and a stocky man with a receding hairline was staring very hard through it at them.

“Ah, that’s my ride,” Stark said, looking around for his tote bag again. He scooped it up and gave a half-smile in James’ direction as he settled the strap on his shoulder. “It was good meeting you, James. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. We’re performing here for another three weeks, if you wanted to come and see it again some time.” The horn blasted again, and Stark winced. “I’m coming!” he called towards the car. He glanced back at James and hitched a thumb towards it. “I’ve gotta go,” he said. “Catch you later, James.”

He hurried off before James could decide what, if anything, he was going to say in reply. The most James could do was raise a hand to wave as the car manoeuvred itself back onto the road and vanished into the traffic.

James sighed. Perhaps he _would_ get tickets to see it again…

A groan interrupted his thoughts. _Oh, yeah,_ James realised, glancing down. _And perhaps I should call somebody about that guy…_

* * *

Several months later found James hanging around outside the stage door of an up-scale theatre in Manhattan. He had gone back to see Stark’s show. Several times, in fact. And he’d met up with Stark outside after a fair number of them. So much so that just the previous night, Stark had instructed James to call him Tony.

It still felt strange to find himself surrounded by a crowd of squealing fans. Ballet seemed to be more popular than he’d have thought. Stark – _Tony_ ; boy, that’d take some getting used to – in particular was always swarmed. James wasn’t surprised. He’d taken to watching Tony more closely during the shows he’d attended, and the other man was by far the best dancer in the troupe, in James’ opinion. In fact, he was vaguely surprised that Tony wasn’t the main lead.

“Oh, God, no,” said Tony, shaking his head when James brought this up once the fans had finally dispersed. He looped his arm around one of James’ and steered them towards the street where his car and driver were waiting. “The attention I get for non-ballet stuff is bad enough; I’m perfectly happy just disappearing into the chorus line, thank you.”

As if to punctuate his point, camera flashes went off in their faces as soon as they emerged from the alley. James flinched back, whilst Tony just sighed and dropped James’ arm, pulling himself upright.

“Mr Stark, Mr Stark! Did you hear that the CEO of Hammer Industries has been arrested on multiple charges of negligible homicide? What do you have to say about that? You’ve been campaigning for years for HI to be shut down, you must be thrilled that now it will be, and of course, it won’t hurt Stark stocks any. Did you have anything to do with the evidence that came to light? Who’s the new companion, Mr Stark? Is he a bodyguard? Have you received death threats? Does being a ballet dancer make you feel unsafe? Is he your partner? How long have you been seeing each other? Mr Stark, Mr Stark—!”

The rush of questions all merged into one, until James couldn’t separate who’d said what.

“I have no comment at this time about anything to do with Hammer Industries, its CEO or the state of Stark stocks,” Tony said, firmly. “And James here is a friend, nothing more, nothing less. Now, I’ve just come from a performance, so if you’ll excuse us.”

James ducked his head as Tony steered him through the still-yelling crowd. His driver, named Happy for some reason that James hadn’t figured out yet, opened up the rear door just enough for them to squeeze in and slammed it after them, before shoving through the crowd to his own door. There was a _lot_ of elbow action, James noted.

“Bloody vultures,” Tony opined as the car roared to life. He glared through the rear window at them as they began to move off. Happy was not being considerate about avoiding the crowd around the car, and James saw several reporters have to leap backwards to avoid having their feet run over. “You’d think they’d realise that I’m not the one to come to for business stuff anymore.” He turned to face the front again and sighed, finally relaxing. “Sorry about that,” he added, sheepishly, to James.

“Nah, not your fault.” James settled back in the seat. He’d not even seen the inside of Tony’s car before, despite the number of times he’d seen Happy collect the other man. “How often does that kind of thing happen?”

“More than I want to think about,” Tony groaned, and rolled one of his shoulders with a grimace. “Ugh,” he complained. “I think I pulled a muscle on one of those last lifts. Hey, Hap, swing by a drive-thru, okay? I’m craving cheeseburger.”

“Oh, uh, you can just drop me off wherever’s convenient,” James added. He’d gone where Tony had steered him, but he had abruptly remembered the fact that, to date, all of his interactions with Tony had been at the stage door of various theatres. He wasn’t certain he rated high enough in the ‘friend’ ranks to just tag along.

Happy glanced back at them both in the rear-view mirror. “Unfortunately, we’ve got a tail,” he advised them. “So I’m afraid you’re both going to be disappointed.”

“What?” Tony spun round to peer out of the back window again. “Damn it,” he hissed, as a dark green car swooped around another one to end up practically kissing their bumper. He turned himself around and flopped back against the seat, pouting.

“Hang on,” Happy warned, and abruptly yanked the wheel to the right, darting the car across the other lane towards a side street. There was a loud blast of horns behind them, but it seemed that the journalist’s car had also managed to follow them unscathed.

James found himself clutching tightly to the door handle as Happy drove like he was in an action movie. Car chases, he reflected, were an awful lot more fun to _watch_ than to _participate_ in.

Tony brushed his fingers across the back of James’ flesh hand, and James realised – to his shock – that Tony wasn’t holding on to anything at all. “I’m so sorry about this, James,” Tony said. “I wanted to invite you either out for dinner, or back to my place, but I’d rather the circumstances were different.”

A jolt different to the movement of the car shot through James, and he blinked at Tony. “Wait, you mean… you wanted to ask me out?” he asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow at the fact that his voice came out half an octave higher than it usually was but kindly didn’t mention it. “Well, yeah,” he replied. “I don’t just invite _anyone_ to call me Tony, you know.” He suddenly bit his lower lip and looked worried. “Um, I mean… provided it was, you know… not unwelcome?”

“No, no, of course it’s—I mean,” James stuttered, but he was interrupted by Happy abruptly swinging wide around a tight corner, and the momentum caused Tony to fall against him. James caught him and held on. Tony glanced up at him with wide eyes, and James couldn’t help it; he ducked his head and pressed his mouth to Tony’s.

Unfortunately, the kiss was much briefer than James would have liked, as Happy swung around another corner and Tony suddenly slid backwards out of James’ grasp. He grunted as he hit the far door, but _finally_ grabbed hold of the handle, licking his lip as he blinked as James.

“Not unwelcome, then,” he squeaked, and James couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“ _Definitely_ not unwelcome,” he agreed.

* * *

Dating Tony came with a lot of new experiences for James. And not all of them were the fun kind. Tony’s assistant and CEO, Pepper Potts, for instance, came to visit him one morning with a pile of paperwork and NDAs for him to sign that took four hours to get through. At the end of it, James wasn’t even certain he was allowed to tell _himself_ anything about Tony.

Then there was the Air Force Lieutenant Colonel who called him up from somewhere in the Middle East at 4am to give him the second scariest shovel talk he’d ever had.

And the absolutely incredible AI that ran Tony’s house and life, and gave James _the_ scariest shovel talk he’d ever had. He was actually a bit afraid to step into Tony’s place after that, worried that JARVIS would take exception to him and fry him with a laser beam.

Plus there were the crowds of journalists and reporters that Tony frequently had to run the gauntlet of. The stories that exploded once they all learnt that James really was dating Tony were horrific. And the _fans_ …

“I feel like some of them are plotting to get hold of bits of my hair and make voodoo dolls out of it,” he complained to Tony.

Tony – busy stretching in his home dance studio – gave a breathless laugh. “I’m sure we can find a witch doctor for protection, if you ever start getting unexplained aches and pains,” he said as he lowered his leg from the barre.

James gave a wordless grumble as JARVIS began playing something soft and melodic over the speakers. Tony usually practiced at least twice a day, and watching him had become one of James’ favourite pastimes.

Of course, he had no idea of the technical terms for all of the leaps, spins and mincing-on-tip-toe steps that Tony did, although he was sure Tony or even JARVIS would willingly teach him, but it didn’t matter.

“How on earth do you manage that?” he wondered out loud as Tony did some more of the mincing steps.

“Practice,” Tony huffed, as he lowered himself down to stand flatfooted, took three huge gliding steps across the floor and propelled himself into the air in a leap that took him the rest of the way across it. He immediately spun into a series of pirouettes that made _James_ dizzy just watching it. “Plenty… of… practice.” He slid out of the spin and abruptly flopped his torso down, reaching for the floor. “That’s why… I have to practice… every day,” he continued between breaths as he slid one foot back until he was seated on the floor. He was still bent over, although now he was stretched out over the leg in front of him. “Otherwise… I lose the… calluses… on my feet.”

“Calluses?” James repeated, confused.

“Professional ballet dancers must put in a lot of effort,” JARVIS chimed in, presumably so that Tony could save his breath for dancing. “Their feet, in particular, take the brunt of it, especially dances that call for a lot of _en pointe_ work. Horror stories abound of ballerinas being forced to dance that way until their feet bleed.”

“ _What_?” James straightened up, alarmed.

“Most injuries come at the beginning,” JARVIS soothed, “when the dancer is not used to it. But as they build up their tolerance, calluses form. Unfortunately, these are easily lost if the dancer stops for an appreciable length of time, and it takes time to build them up again. Thus, sir practises twice a day even when not due to perform.”

“Plus it’s good… exercise anyway,” added Tony, in the midst of a series of smaller leaps back across the room. He landed in the far corner, did one last pirouette, and then slid a foot back until he was balanced in an odd sort of bow, draped over his own knee. The music JARVIS had been playing came to a crashing and abrupt halt. James’ ears rang in the sudden silence.

Tony held the pose for a minute more, and then bounced upright. He was glistening with sweat but grinning. James applauded wildly. It might have only been a practice, but Tony deserved it.

“Do you only practice on your own?” James asked.

Tony strolled over to him and picked up the towel he’d placed on the bench beside James. “If I’m just doing daily stuff here, yeah. Obviously rehearsals involve most of the rest of the cast.” He wiped the towel over his face and around his neck. “Why?” he wondered.

“Well… the performances involve lifting other dancers, right? So… how can you practice that on your own? What if you dropped the other person?”

Tony paused what he was doing and stared at James around the edge of the towel. “James, are you asking me to try lifting _you_?” he asked, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

James shook his head. “Oh, God, no,” he said. “I doubt you could manage me; I just wondered, that’s all.”

Tony tossed the towel into the laundry hamper and smiled at James. “As it happens, I lift weights, too,” he informed James. “Not every day, like the dancing, but enough that I have the upper body strength to hold the lifts. Additionally, the choreographer is very careful to make sure that we aren’t partnered with somebody we don’t have a chance at lifting.” He ran a studied eye over James. “I probably _could_ lift you,” he decided. “But not for very long; likely only a few seconds.”

James reached out to wrap an arm around his waist and tug the other man between his knees. “I could probably lift _you_ , though,” he mused, resting his other hand on Tony’s waist, too. “I mean, you really aren’t that much bigger than Steve when he was young.”

“Oi!” Tony smacked him round the head. He’d met Steve just once before, but James had shown him plenty of pictures of when both of them were young. Steve had been very scrawny.

Before Tony had a chance to realise what James was about, he surged up from the bench, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s waist and lifting him clear off the floor. Tony gave a squeak of surprise and threw his arms around James’ neck, before bursting into laughter.

“Put me _down_ ,” he attempted to order James, but any authority was dispersed by the fact that his voice still shook with mirth. “You big lunk, what are you doing? This is not a proper ballet lift, you know.”

“Your feet are still off the floor, aren’t they?” James pointed out. He grinned up at Tony. “Hmm, what should I do with you now I’ve got you?”

“Ooh, am I your captive now?” asked Tony. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the thought. He ducked his head so that his mouth barely brushed James’. “Are you going to have your wicked way with me?” he breathed.

James shivered at the sensation, and tightened his grip so as not to drop Tony. “You keep that up, I just might,” he warned.

Tony smirked at him and wiggled, not seriously trying to get himself loose but pretending that he might. “Promises, promises,” he said.

Without another word, James raised his head and firmly kissed Tony. Perhaps it was because their relationship was still new – relatively speaking – but he never seemed to be able to get enough of Tony, whether kissing him, watching him dance, sleeping with him or doing something as soppy as curling up together on the sofa to doze off whilst the news played in the background. And Tony certainly wasn’t complaining.

JARVIS made an awkward, rough sound that was the closest he came to clearing his throat. “My apologies, sir, but Miss Potts is here,” he said.

Tony remained still for a moment, and then sighed and slowly drew back from James. He didn’t seem to want to stop any more than James did, as he kept leaning back in to press quick little kisses against James’ mouth. “I don’t want to stop, but Pepper will kill me if I leave her waiting any longer than fifteen minutes after JARVIS informs me she’s here,” he murmured, regretfully.

“Not even a minute longer?” James asked, giving Tony his best approximation of puppy-dog eyes.

Tony made a sound of sincere, pained regret, and slid his hands onto James’ shoulders to push himself fully upright in James’ arms. “No,” he sighed. “I once made her wait for three hours while I was, er, _busy_ with someone, so she instigated the rule. JARVIS tells me she’s here, and I have fifteen minutes to present myself to her or else she’s going to sell off my entire collection of vintage cars.”

James considered the cars that Tony, trailed by Happy with a cleaning rag, had shown him once. The collection would easily fetch several billion dollars, he reckoned. But he hadn’t thought Tony was _that_ fond of it that the loss of the collection could sway him like that.

“Plus she’ll get JARVIS to lock me out of my workshop for a month,” Tony added.

“Ah,” said James, and hastily put Tony back down on his feet. _Yeah, that’d do it!_

Tony took several steps towards the door, but then paused and came back. “No, you know what?” he said. “I think, this once, Pepper can wait. I want to kiss my boyfriend some more.”

“Is it worth Pepper’s wrath?” James wondered, wrapping an arm back around Tony’s waist as he pressed in close again.

Tony gave him a sly smile, glancing up at James through his eyelashes. “Why don’t we try it and find out?” he asked in what was damn near a purr.

Tony was right. It was _definitely_ worth it.


End file.
